The industrious application of salts, cold water, and burnt rags, together with chafing of temples, opening of collars, and loosening the stay-laces of the young ladies, produced the happiest effects.  Every hand, and every tongue was in motion; and with all these remedies, the eyes of the enchanting Emily opened, and beamed upon me, spreading joy and gladness over the face of creation, like the sun rising out of the bosom of the Atlantic, to cheer the inhabitants of the Antilles after a frightful hurricane.  In half an hour, all was right; “the guns were secured—­we beat the retreat;” the servants retired.  I became the centre of the picture.  Emily held my right, my father my left; dear Clara hung round my neck.  Questions were put and answered as fast as sobs and tears would admit of their being heard.  The interlude was filled up with the sweetest kisses from the rosiest of lips; and I was in this half hour rewarded for all I had suffered since I had sailed from England in the diabolical brig for Barbadoes.

It was, I own, exceedingly wrong to have taken the house, as it were, by storm, when I knew they were in mourning for me; but I forgot that other people did not require the same stimulus as myself.  I begged pardon; was kissed again and again, and forgiven.  Oh, it was worth while to offend to be forgiven by such lips, and eyes, and dimples.  But I am afraid this thought is borrowed from some prose or poetry; if so, the reader must forgive me, and so must the author, who may have it again, now I have done with it, for I shall never use it any more.

My narrative was given with as much modesty and brevity as time and circumstances would admit.  The coachman was despatched on one of the best carriage-horses express to Mr Somerville, and the mail coach was loaded with letters to all the friends and connections of the family.

This ended, each retired to dress for dinner.  What a change had one hour wrought in this house of mourning, now suddenly turned into a house of joy!  Alas! how often is the picture reversed in human life!  The ladies soon reappeared in spotless white; emblems of their pure minds.  My father had put off his sables, and the servants came in their usual liveries, which were very splendid.

Dinner being announced, my father handed off Emily; I followed with my sister.  Emily, looking over her shoulder, said, “Don’t be jealous, Frank.”

My father laughed, and I vowed revenge for this little satirical hit.

“You know the forfeit,” said I, “and you shall pay it.”

“I am happy to say that I am both able and willing,” said she, and we sat down to dinner, but not before my father had given thanks in a manner more than usually solemn and emphatic.  This essential act of devotion, so often neglected, brought tears into the eyes of all.  Emily sank into her chair, covered her face with her pocket-handkerchief, and relieved herself with tears.  Clara did the same.  My father shook me by the hand, and said, “Frank, this is a very different kind of repast to what we had yesterday.  How little did we know of the happiness that was in store for us!”